


A Throne of Polystyrene Beads (also known as a beanbag chair)

by InAPerfectWorld



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 17 year old harry, 21 year old louis, M/M, blowjob, give me honest criticism, larry - Freeform, louisandharry, thanks for reading!, this is my first time sharing anything online
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 21:59:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1874037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InAPerfectWorld/pseuds/InAPerfectWorld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry goes through tutors like a kid with a cold goes through tissues. Enter new guy Louis Tomlinson, two minutes into the lesson and already calling Harry a mummy's boy. Harry's bored and Harry's horny and more than anything, Harry wants to prove Louis wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Throne of Polystyrene Beads (also known as a beanbag chair)

**Author's Note:**

> I started working on this a few months ago and finally got around to finishing it a couple weeks ago. I'm sorry if it's complete garbage, but I had fun with it so hope you enjoy! FEEDBACK MUCH APPRECIATED!
> 
> twitter: @louisandsheeran

Harry has yelled and slammed the door too loudly but it's too late. His parents refuse to negotiate—his new tutor is coming today.

It isn't normal; Harry knows that. A seventeen year old should know how to properly read or do algebra. But ever since he’s been going to school, Harry has always needed an extra push. A tutor. The thing is, Harry hates it. He hates needing an “extra push”, and he doesn’t have any motivation whatsoever to learn. So, after a few weeks, Harry becomes frustrated, the tutor becomes frustrated, and eventually gives up. A lot of people give up on Harry.

Two people not included in those “lot of people” are Harry’s parents, especially his mom. Honestly, Harry can only wonder at the extent of her patience. She would go to the other end of the world to help her son, if it came to that. It’s nice to feel that at least one person hasn’t totally given up on him, but there’s a downside too. It makes Harry want to literally punch himself in the face when she gives him that almost-smile after he has one of his fits because he knows, he just knows, that she too is disappointed in him. And he’s just so fucking sick of that.

He lies down in his bed, his headphones on, blasting something loud. His mother tells him all too many times to lower the volume, but loud is nice because Harry's mind might be loud, but the music is louder. He closes his eyes, letting the clash of instruments block everything out. 

The music mutes the sound of the doorbell, and the music mutes the sound of two pairs of feet making their way upstairs. But even on the highest volume it can't mute his mother's voice. "Harry! Harry what did I tell you about listening to music at an insanely loud volume? Harry! Take off those headphones before I have to confiscate them!" His mom talks like that, exaggerating words and treating him like a little kid. Still, he takes off his headphones and, sighing, opens his eyes. He may play up the rebel teenager act at times, but there’s no denying that he’s a bit of mummy’s boy. Not that he’d ever admit to it. 

"Harry, Louis is here. Get out of bed and get your act together." He dodges away from his mother’s hand, avoiding the hair ruffle that was sure to follow. As he meticulously winds his headphone cord around his index finger, he wonders what this Louis guy will be like.

Harry walks into the living room adjacent to his bedroom. Facing the wall is a shaggy brown haired young man with a thin but strong build. He's wearing tight fitting capris and, well, tight fitting everything. His short sleeve V-neck exposes a variety of tattoos on both his forearms. And he’s wearing a scarf. He's wearing a scarf in 90 degrees weather. Who does that?

The man turns around and Harry quickly averts his eyes. 

"Ah, hey, you must be Harold.”

“Harry.”

“Oh, well, hey. I'm Louis Tomlinson, good to finally meet you. I’ve heard about you lots—only good things, promise." He extends his hand.

Right. Harry shakes Louis’ hand firmly, praying that the sweat on his palm isn’t noticeable. He can never quite get rid of the social anxiety that comes with meeting new people. It doesn’t exactly help that Louis is so young, or that his capris and t-shirt are so goddamn tight, or that the blue in his eyes makes Harry want to put on his swimming trunks and dive into the goddamn ocean. 

Harry and Louis get to work. Well, at least Louis does. Harry never realized just how many books could fit in a simple, single pocket Jansport backpack. Louis fumbles around, pulling out all these different volumes. Harry wonders whether or not he should ask to help but prefers to just watch Louis from the back. He takes a closer look at the tattoos covering his arms. They range from a deer head to—Harry has to squint his eyes to be sure that—yes, that’s definitely PacMan.

Afterwards, Harry shows Louis to his room, sitting in his blue beanbag chair and gesturing for Louis to sit in the green one. Harry's mom has this stupid idea that using beanbags rather than chairs will improve his learning. She wants to—he quotes—"provide a more comfortable and relaxed learning area". It’s kind of ridiculous, but hey, they’re surprisingly comfortable.

Harry looks up to meet Louis’ stare. For a second, there’s a sort of awkward silence as neither one knows how to begin. Then, just as Louis starts to say something Harry’s mom yells from downstairs that she’s going out for a while and that Harry better behave himself. He blushes a little, really not needing that extra embarrassment. 

“So,” Louis starts with a smile.

“So.” Harry isn’t exactly an expert in small talk. “How come you’re wearing a scarf in July?”

“It’s called fashion, mate.” 

“Oh, um, sorry I didn’t mean it to sound offensive. That’s cool, yeah. You’re into fashion and all?” Harry can feel his cheeks turn red.

“I’m a flamboyant gay dude so isn’t that a given?” He laughs a short laugh. “Kidding. I mean sure, I care about how I dress. I happen to be gay.” He pauses. “And from the way you were checking me out in the living room, I can guess that I’m not the only one.” He smirks.

Harry’s jaw literally drops. Like, his mouth is gaping, pink lips shaped in an “o” of surprise. He’s the definition of caught off guard.

Louis notices Harry’s expression and his usual cool-and-collected look changes to a more nervous one. “Oh, fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. No idea what I was thinking saying that—fuck, sorry.” Louis’ head is literally in his hands and his words come out half mumbled as his mouth presses against his palms.

Harry recovers fairly quickly. If it had been anyone else—or at least anyone not half as good looking or charismatic as Louis—he would’ve probably kicked the guy out of his house, but Louis has something about him that Harry can’t quite give a name to. It may be his spontaneity. Harry’s life really lacks that.

“Hey, no, it’s okay. Yeah, I’m into guys…” Harry says, biting his lip slightly. 

Louis sits up and runs his hand through his hair as this look of full on incredulity is displayed on his face. He smiles. “Yeah, mate, I knew that. I thought you were going to go and get me fired, ‘cos you seem like a bit of a mummy’s boy to be quite honest.”

Harry’s eyes widen and he immediately talks offense. “Am not!”

Louis seems to be enjoying himself. He’s even kicked off his shoes and leaned deeper into the beanbag chair so that his feet don’t touch the ground. He gives Harry an I-don’t-believe-you look and arches his eyebrows. “Oh yeah? Prove it.” He says it half-jokingly, amused by Harry’s reaction.

“Oh yeah? Who says I won’t.” Harry pauses for a second and licks his lips, knowing instantly that the next thing he says could result in a myriad of situations, the most of them being the opposite of ideal. But, fuck, he’s bored and horny and if Louis can say whatever the hell he wants than why can’t he? So he says it. “Maybe I’ll suck you off, here and now.” He can hardly believe what he’s said, but he’s not about to take it back. This tight-capris-wearing Louis Tomlinson isn’t going to walk into Harry’s house, sit in Harry’s beanbag chair, and get away with calling him a mummy’s boy. Plus, it beats algebra any day.

It’s Louis’ turn for his jaw to drop, and for the first time he really looks at Harry in admiration. Being a seventeen year old boy, Louis doubts that Harry would like to be described as a “pretty”, but it’s certainly the first thing that comes to mind. His rogue, chestnut curls frame his face beautifully, and the pink of his lips contrasts with his light skin. Just looking at those lips, imagining them around his cock, gives Louis a semi. He tries to think of a witty comeback, rather than just “yes, please do me the honor of sucking my dick” but he can’t come up with anything better than, “Can you even give a proper blowjob? You’re like, a kid still.”

Harry smiles a little as he realizes he’s knocked Louis down a peg or two. “I guess you’ll be the judge of that.”

Without giving Louis a chance to reply, Harry is on his knees in front of him. He notices with satisfaction the visible bulge straining against the fabric of his capris. It’s pretty neat how conveniently sat Louis is in his beanbag, with his legs spread apart, comfortably sat on his throne of polystyrene beads.

Harry bites his bottom lip as he undoes the top button of Louis’ pants and quickly pulls down the zipper. Within moments, the pants are off and strewn across the floor.

Louis lets out a sigh of relief. “Go on now, prove me wrong.” 

Harry expects to do no less. He pulls down Louis’ boxers to happily find that he’s already hard. 

“Come on, Harry…” Louis is trying his best to be patient, but it’s hard as hell, pun intended. And then he just can’t wait any longer. He grasps Harry’s hair and pulls forward until his dick is in 

Harry’s mouth. Harry takes it from there, trying to take in every inch, using his tongue expertly. Well, maybe not expertly but it’s honestly not Harry’s first time giving a blowjob. He gets out. Sometimes. 

Louis’ hands are still tangled in Harry’s hair as he lets out a small moan. The younger boy is certainly proving him wrong (he hates being proven wrong) but this time it’s definitely worth it. He would never admit to it, but this is a hell of a blowjob. And Louis has been given many life-changing blowjobs. He thrusts his hips as well as we can, given that he’s sitting in a beanbag chair, so that Harry almost gags. The key word is “almost”, and Louis is impressed. With a last thrust he releases, a louder sound escaping his lips. 

After a moment of heart pounding silence, Harry looks up at Louis with a cheeky smile on his face. His cheeks are pink and his hair wild.

“Not such a mummy’s boy anymore, huh?”

Louis can’t argue with that.


End file.
